


Or You Could Kiss Me

by Polomonkey



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Christmas, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Mistletoe, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-27
Updated: 2014-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 19:10:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2873750
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Polomonkey/pseuds/Polomonkey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin goes a bit overboard with the mistletoe to entice a certain someone. Arthur is oblivious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Or You Could Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

> I'm very sorry to anyone waiting on an update to When The Road Runs Out, I've had killer writer's block. This silly piece of Christmas fluff was an attempt to clear the pipes, I hope you like it.

It can all be traced back to Gwen really, and the night she storms into Merlin’s flat four days into December. The nursery Gwen works at is always beautifully decorated for Christmas but the mistletoe they hung above the door this year had to be swiftly retired for decidedly unsavoury reasons. 

“The amount of fathers who tried to kiss me and Mithian! While their kids just sat around waiting! Never mind mistletoe, they should just call it the sexual harassment plant and have done with it.”

Gwen looks fiercely indignant, waving a particularly spiky looking branch at Merlin to emphasise her point.

“Hey, I agree wholeheartedly,” Merlin said, narrowly avoiding being poked in the eye. “My only question is, why have you brought the sexual harassment plant to my flat?” 

Gwen’s cheeks pinken slightly.

“Oh, well… I didn’t want to just throw it away and I thought maybe…” Gwen fumbles for words.

“I mean, you have quite green fingers, don’t you?” she finishes lamely and Merlin fixes her with A Look.

“Gwen, is there any chance you brought this mistletoe here because I’m the most single person you know and you thought it might get me some action?”

“You’re not the most single person I know!” Gwen protests. “There’s… I mean, there’s Edwin.”

“Edwin’s a pyromaniac!”

“Yeah, and he’s also dating Gilli, I just remembered.” Gwen says, crestfallen.

Great. The man who tried to set fire to Emirates stadium has a boyfriend and Merlin doesn’t. That’s a real self-esteem boost. 

“God, am I really the only one of us without a partner?”

Gwen perks up suddenly.

“Arthur’s single!”

“What? No he’s not, he’s dating Vivian.”

“Not since two weeks ago. She chucked him. Said she wanted to see other people. Specifically other people who were willing to buy her a diamond and forgo a pre-nup.”

“Wow. Stay classy, Viv.”

Merlin tries to sound deadpan but his mind is whirling. Arthur’s single? For the first time since Merlin’s known him? Could this be…

No. It could not be. They may have only known each other for a year but Merlin can tell he’s firmly in the friendzone with Arthur. And God, when did he start using that horrible term friendzone?

He can’t think of a better way to explain it though. They got off to a bad start when they first met, but it was barely a month before they’d become firm friends. Maybe too firm. It didn’t take long for Merlin to realise he wanted more than that, but by then it seemed he’d missed his chance to make a move. Arthur just thought of him as a mate, nothing more.

Then again. Viv’s off the scene. Maybe now’s the time to shift Arthur’s view of him. If he could just get him to stop seeing Merlin as a friend…

Merlin can think of one very good way of doing that. 

_If they somehow kissed…_

He’s suddenly aware that he’s abruptly snatched the mistletoe from Gwen’s outstretched hand. Gwen looks a bit on the amazed side. 

“Er, I guess I can take this off your hands. As a favour.”

Gwen gets a very irritating knowing look in her eyes.

“Sure. Why not hang it above the door? And that way when Ar- when someone you like comes around, you’ve got an excuse.”

She gives him a small wicked grin, as though using mistletoe to steal kisses wasn’t exactly why she came round so incensed in the first place.

Merlin hopes he’s less desperate than the lascivious fathers at Gwen’s nursery. The eager way he just grabbed that mistletoe makes him think perhaps not, unfortunately.

But what if he did put it above the door? And then next time Arthur came round, he could sort of just casually look up and be all “Ha ha, mistletoe, how did that get there?” and maybe Arthur would just throw caution to the wind and sweep him up in his arms and…

“Merlin? You still with me?”

Merlin realises his mouth is hanging open slightly and closes it abruptly.

“Yup… er, let’s have a little Christmas thing here on Friday, okay? Mince pies and mulled wine and all that. You bring Mithian and Lance, I’ll give the guys and Morgana a ring.”

“And Arthur?” Gwen says, the glint in her eye looking fairly demonic at this point.

“Oh yeah, I suppose he can come too,” Merlin says nonchalantly. 

Now, how’s he going to tie this mistletoe up?

_____________________________________________________________________

 

He ends up sellotaping the mistletoe to the door frame because his last attempt at DIY ended with a nail embedded in his thumb followed by a series of scathing remarks from the emergency room doctor. Sellotape might not be the most elegant of solutions but at least it’s staying put. His gaze wanders to it periodically as he counts down the days till Friday, trying to decide if he’s being deeply romantic or unforgivably creepy.

Bit of both, probably.

It doesn’t stop him texting Arthur to come round fifteen minutes earlier than everyone else. That way he has some privacy to (a) finally kiss the man of his dreams or (b) suffer horrendous rejection and eternal heartbreak. Both of those outcomes are best experienced without an audience, he reckons.

So when the doorbell rings he fluffs up his hair, checks his breath (he’s brushed his teeth three times in the last hour) and arranges his features in a manner which he hopes is seductive.

He opens the door to reveal Gwaine leaning against the frame, an obscenely large bottle of eggnog in his hand.

“Ooh, mistletoe!” Gwaine says. And plants one on him.

 

Arthur ends up being the last person to arrive. In the meantime, every single one of his friends has greeted him with a kiss; although happily they all restrained themselves to his cheek, unlike bloody Gwaine.

Clearly the mistletoe has been effectively placed, hopefully increasing the chances that Arthur will succumb. When the doorbell finally goes, Merlin rubs the side of his face nervously (Morgana left a surprisingly resilient lipstick mark) and pulls the door open.

“Sorry I’m late; work was insane, as usual.”

Arthur looks dapper as always, clad in his fitted suit and tie with a blue cashmere scarf wrapped round his neck. It goes with his eyes, a realisation that causes Merlin’s mouth to dry up for a moment. This is not the time for his mouth to be misbehaving and Merlin wills it back to normality.

“Hi,” he squeaks out, voice about forty times higher than its natural register. “Come on in.”

He steps backs once and then pauses, looking up just the way he rehearsed it.

“Oh look-” he starts, just the right tone of resigned amusement in his voice. “It’s mis-"

This of course is the moment the sellotape gives and the whole branch comes crashing down on his head. 

His (extremely masculine) yelp brings most of the others running out to the hallway.

“Everything alright?”

“Yeah, except some plant just fell on Merlin,” Arthur says, frowning.

Merlin gapes even as Gwen begins to pick bits of leaf out of his hair. Does Arthur even know what mistletoe is?

Gwen gives Lance a pointed look and Merlin guesses one of those weird couple mind conversations happens because Lance suddenly claps Arthur on the shoulder and takes him off into the living room.

Merlin sneezes dejectedly.

“Oh dear,” Gwen says sympathetically, plucking a berry from behind Merlin’s ear. “Perhaps the mistletoe didn’t have quite the intended effect.”

“What you talking about?” Gwaine says from the doorway. “He got a kiss from me, didn’t he?”

Merlin feels entirely justified in throwing the remains of the branch in Gwaine’s face.

 

__________________________________________________________________________

 

After the initial fiasco, Merlin figures it’s time to simplify. No audience this time, just him and Arthur. And he’ll be strategic with his mistletoe placement. He’ll fasten it to some picture hooks instead so there’ll be no chance of a sudden arboreal plummet. 

He casually invites Arthur over to watch a film after work, and judiciously affixes the largest branch right above the sofa. Even Arthur can’t miss that.

Except, of course, he can. Arthur looks straight at it, opens his mouth to comment, and then snaps it shut again. The next words out of his mouth are an impassioned plea for Alien vs. Predator to be the film choice of the night, while Merlin desperately tries to bring his attention back to the plant behind them.

It’s no use. Either Arthur is completely non-cognisant of the cultural phenomenon of mistletoe, or he’s seen it and has precisely zero intention of using it to kiss Merlin.

Either option is unpalatable and Merlin settles into a sulk as Arthur extols the virtues of trash cinema.

He’s momentarily distracted from his huff when Arthur suddenly breaks off to ask him how work is going. 

Merlin works at a local charity that takes kids with disabilities on adventure holidays. He’s mainly in the office doing admin, but once every couple of months he comes along with the kids on the outings. Arthur seems genuinely interested in hearing about their recent trip to the Lake District, especially the unfortunate moment where Merlin had fallen head first into Lake Windermere.

“Tell me someone took a picture.”

“It’s the bloody office screensaver!” Merlin says indignantly as Arthur creases up.

Merlin tries to keep a straight face but ends up breaking out in a grin, watching the way Arthur’s eyes light up as he laughs.

He asks about Arthur’s work too, being sure to get in a few teasing digs about Arthur being a corporate fat cat.

“I am not a fat cat! I’m a skinny cat, if anything. One of those weird hairless malnourished ones.”

“Yeah, right. How much was your bonus this year?”

“Ten thousand,” Arthur admits, and blushes when Merlin cocks an eyebrow at him. “But I’m gonna do something useful with it this year!”

“Bulk order of caviar? New set of top and tails for your butler?”

“Funny, Merlin, you clearly missed your calling as a clown. Apparently you already have the pratfalling down, so…”

“The banks of Windermere are extremely slippy! They should put a sign up. Health and safety.”

Merlin is struck by sudden inspiration. 

“Ooh, ooh, why was Santa’s Grotto shut down?”

“Because of “elf and safety”, by any chance?”

“Oh, you’ve heard that joke before.”

“No, I could just literally see you come up with it two seconds ago. You get this little twitch at the side of your mouth when you think you’re about to say something funny.”

“What do you mean ‘think’? I’m hilarious.”

“So you keep telling me.”

“You should listen. Now go make us some popcorn, joke ruiner.”

Merlin watches Arthur walk out of the room, or more precisely watches a certain part of him, and sighs. 

There’s still eleven days till Christmas. He just has to step it up a notch.

 

_____________________________________________________________________________

 

“Holy crap Merlin, did you buy shares in an orchard or something? Where the hell did all this come from?”

Looking at the flat from Elyan’s perspective, Merlin can see it might be a little overwhelming. Most of the available wall space is covered in mistletoe, there are branches sticking out of vases on the coffee table and hearth, and even some lying flat on top of the television.

He may have been a bit overly thorough. But the time for subtlety is over.

“I’m trying to send a message,” he tells Elyan.

“Is the message that you’re some kind of serial killer with a fetish for mistletoe? Because that’s what this room is screaming at me.”

“Good. I want a room that he… that people can’t ignore.”

“Oh, is this all for Arthur?” Elyan says and Merlin can’t help shushing him, in the unlikely event Arthur is hiding behind his bookshelf or something.

“No! Why would it be?”

“Gwen said you fancied him,” Elyan says casually.

“Gwen has a big mouth.”

“I know. I dared her to put thirty marbles in her mouth when we were kids and she did it. Swallowed like three though, that was unfortunate.”

“What a heartwarming tale. Okay fine, if you’re in on this you can help me out. I told Arthur to meet us here so we could go to the pub together, but when he rings the doorbell can you just nip to the loo and give us a minute alone together? That way he’ll get a look at the flat and…”

Merlin waves his hand vaguely, trying to convey all the warm fuzzy things he hopes will occur when Arthur finally cottons on.

“Okay, sure. And might I add that this plan is in no way weird and off-putting?”

“O ye of little faith. It’s Christmas! All the best miracles happen around now.”

The doorbell rings and Merlin immediately shunts Elyan off to the bathroom before opening the door to Arthur.

“El’s just gonna be a sec, come through to the living room.”

Merlin propels Arthur in ahead of him and waits expectantly. He sees Arthur take in the decorations, eyes swivelling from ceiling to floor before turning back to face Merlin.

“Wow,” he says finally. “Is that what I think it is?”

“What exactly do you think it is?” Merlin says in a flirty voice.

Arthur leans forward and Merlin braces himself, subconsciously licking his lips.

But then Arthur leans right past him, to grab an open tin off the window sill behind him.

“Your mum’s homemade Christmas biscuits! Can I have one?”

Arthur’s already digging one out.

“Sure,” Merlin says in a strangled voice, grabbing one of his own. 

Maybe if he’s lucky he’ll choke to death on it. Behind Arthur, Elyan pokes his head round the door to give Merlin a sad thumbs down.

Merlin grabs three more cookies and crams them all in his mouth at once. 

 

____________________________________________________________________________________

 

Merlin knows when he’s beaten. No one could be that oblivious, Arthur clearly just isn’t interested. He tries not to mind. It probably wouldn’t have worked out anyway. They’re better off just as friends.

Despite his best efforts to believe that, he trudges into work on Christmas Eve in a cloud of despondency. His boss had offered him the day off but Merlin decided to come in at the last minute. The people who needed Christmas Eve off were the ones with partners and families, and he didn’t have either this year so why not be at work? 

The day goes quicker than he’d like; he’s not exactly relishing the prospect of going home to an empty house. 

When he finally can’t fabricate any more work to do, he packs up his things and wishes everyone in the office a happy Christmas.

“Have a good one, Merlin,” Mordred says.

“Merry Christmas!” Elena calls out cheerily. “And tell your friend Arthur thanks from us!”

Merlin’s almost out the door before he turns back.

“Sorry, what? Why would I thank Arthur for you?”

Mordred is looking daggers at Elena, who’s slowly turning red as Rudolph’s nose.

“No reason,” she says guiltily.

“Mordred?” Merlin says in his best ‘cut the crap’ voice, which is basically just an imitation of how Morgana sounds all the time.

“Your mate may have come by and made a donation earlier. And then specifically told us NOT to tell you.” Mordred says, flicking the remains of a mince pie at Elena.

“I’m sorry, it just slipped out! But I don’t even know why he didn’t want us to tell you, he deserves the credit for being so nice!”

“How much was it for?” Merlin says, his stomach feeling slightly funny.

“Ten grand!” Elena squeaks excitedly.

His Christmas bonus. _Oh Arthur._

Merlin mutters out a strangled goodbye and sets off for home, trying to ignore the butterflies in his stomach.

It doesn’t mean anything. Well it does, it means Arthur is incredibly generous and also apparently capable of being modest. But it doesn’t mean anything for… them.

There is no ‘them’. They’re just friends. Just friends.

Merlin repeats it like a mantra all the way to his flat. Then he gets inside, takes off his shoes, and puts them straight back on again.

He’s going to thank Arthur. A strictly platonic thank you for a welcome donation. It’s only polite.

The fact that he runs all the way to Arthur’s until his legs start to cramp is also a strictly platonic act. 

When Arthur answers the door he looks immediately uncomfortable, and doesn’t invite Merlin in. Merlin can’t help but feel a little sick at that, wondering if Arthur has someone in there with him. Or does he just not want Merlin intruding on his Christmas Eve?

Merlin pushes down the hurt and plasters a big smile across his face.

“My colleagues cracked and told me what you did. I just wanted to thank you in person.”

If Arthur looked uncomfortable before, he now looks like he’s just rolled in poison ivy.

“They shouldn’t have told you,” he says, not meeting Merlin’s gaze.

“Well they did,” Merlin says a little desperately, because this is not how he hoped this might go. “So I’m here to say. Um. Thank you.”

Arthur merely nods.

“It was very nice,” Merlin tries after a long pause. But Arthur’s completely clammed up; Merlin hasn’t seen him this reticent since the first time they met. He doesn’t understand why he’s getting the cold shoulder now, but it stings.

When it becomes apparent Arthur isn’t going to say anything, Merlin gestures to the road.

“Okay. Well. I’m gonna head home. So. Merry Christmas, I guess?”

Arthur just stands there, about as animated as the snowman in his neighbour’s yard.

Merlin turns away, feeling embarrassed and awkward and – horrifyingly – a bit tearful. He gets about three paces down the path before he hears his name.

“Merlin! Wait. I didn’t… come back a sec.”

Merlin obediently trudges back, hoping Arthur won’t see the brightness of his eyes in the gloom of dusk.

“I didn’t want them to tell you because I didn’t want you to think I gave the money as… as like a come-on.”

As far as confusion goes, Merlin imagines his face is probably on a par with the Virgin Mary’s when Gabriel popped round to give her the good news.

“Eh?” he says, rather dopily, and reflects that Mary was probably a bit more articulate than he’s being right now.

Arthur looks pained, and his voice is oddly stiff and formal when he speaks again.

“I didn’t give the money to try and convince you to… I mean, regardless of how I feel… that is to say, I wasn’t attempting to…”

Merlin hasn’t seen Arthur lost for words very often.

“I don’t think I get what you’re saying,” he says carefully, tamping down the hope that’s rising in his chest.

Arthur takes a deep breath, and exhales loudly.

“I’m saying… I like you. Obviously, I respect that you couldn’t feel the same way, I really do, so please don’t misread the donation as some kind of underhanded attempt to seduce you.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to impersonate a snowman. He stands stock still for what feels like an age, Arthur’s words running through his head.

“Did you just say you liked me?”

Arthur nods, jaw tight, like he’s waiting to be mocked.

“Did you just say that I couldn’t feel the same way?”

Arthur nods again.

“And I respect that, genuinely,” he says in that same stiff voice.

“Why couldn’t I?” Merlin says, heart racing.

“Because you’re out of my league,” Arthur says, like it’s completely obvious.

Merlin hopes he doesn’t have food stuck in his teeth because it’s probably the third time this conversation that his mouth has dropped wide open in shock.

“How am _I_ out of _your_ league?”

And finally that weird formal tone slips from Arthur’s voice and words come spilling out of him in one long gush.

“Because you’re so good! You work at a charity, and you spend half your free time on holiday with those kids. You look after all of our friends, you never turn anyone away when they need advice, you’re always trying to keep the peace. Your mum even told me you used to rescue injured birds and squirrels and nurse them back to health! You’re basically a Disney character come to life!”

Arthur gestures to himself.

“And I’m… I’m just a corporate fat cat like you always tell me. I’m a workaholic, and my job is solely designed to make our company a ton of money whilst helping precisely no-one. And I’m selfish… and I can be arrogant… and I know you think I’m a prat most of the time and-”

“Arthur, stop.”

Merlin steps right up into Arthur’s space, laying his palm flat on Arthur’s chest.

“You’re not a fat cat. I was only joking all those times. I know you’re only working at your dad’s company until you figure out what you wanna do long term, and I know you work harder there than anyone else does. And you’re not selfish, not at all. You were the one who donated a week of your leave to Lance when his dad died. And let Mithian stay at your house rent free for months when she was between flats. And came round with those cookies I like when my cat got run over, and listened to me talk about her all night without interrupting.”

Merlin suddenly grins wide, unable to stop himself.

“And yes, you are arrogant but to be honest it’s a bit of a turn on; though I’ll deny that if you ask me later. And yes, you most definitely are a prat, but that’s probably the reason I like you so much.”

Arthur blinks.

“You… you like-”

“Yes, I like you. In fact, I’ve been miserably failing to seduce you all month.”

“You have?”

“Why do you think there’s so much bloody mistletoe in my flat? I kept trying to entice you under it for a kiss.”

It’s Arthur’s turn to grin then, wild and hopeful.

“I thought you just really loved Christmas.”

“Nope. It was pretty much all for you.”

Arthur looks wonderfully, thrillingly happy. Merlin begins to lean forward, but then Arthur puts his hand up.

“Wait. I wasn’t lying earlier. I really did give the money because it’s a good cause and they deserved it. Not because I was trying to get into your...”

“Pants?” Merlin says, smirking.

“Good books! Jesus, I was going to say good books.”

“You can get into both, if you like,” Merlin says, heady with the knowledge that Arthur wants him. Wants _him_. Merlin. If it wasn’t so cold, he’d probably do a jig in the street.

“Oh I will,” Arthur promises. “But first I’m taking you inside to warm up with some mulled wine.”

He looks so perfect in that moment, cheeks pink with the cold, blonde hair ruffled by the winter breeze.

“Or you could kiss me,” Merlin says softly, stepping into Arthur’s space.

“There’s no mistletoe,” Arthur points out, as he wraps his arms round Merlin’s waist.

“I don’t think we need an excuse anymore,” Merlin murmurs, and then his lips are on Arthur’s and it’s the best Christmas ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy holidays everyone! Hope you're having a good one :)


End file.
